


A son left

by write_your_way_out



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_your_way_out/pseuds/write_your_way_out
Summary: Someone has to tell the family. Someone has to deliver the bad news - and the bloody uniform. Today, that person happens to be Jean. But he can’t do it alone.





	A son left

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this for a while, and now that I've started doing warm-up drabbles, I thought I would finally write it! I certainly have more ideas within this scenario, so if you want a follow-up, let me know!

A son left. A blood-splattered uniform came back.

"Go." Bert pressed his hand into Jean's back. His fingers tightened over the cloth of Marco's jacket.

"I don't want to do this." The confession slipped out before Jean could stop it. "I'm not good with people. You should go instead."

"No," Bert's eyes fell to the ground. His toe dug into the dirt, kicking up a spray of dust. "I shouldn't."

"You know how to talk to people! You can comfort them." Jean clenched a fist around the bloody remains of Marco's uniform. "I can't."

"You knew Marco better than anyone. It's why we voted for you to be the bearer of bad news." Vote. Like it was a peaceful democratic process. In reality, almost half of the people Jean had trained with were dead. The battle for Trost left them all broken, physically and mentally. Deciding who would tell the families about the fallen soldiers was a bloodbath in its own right. 

After all: No one wants to explain to a crying mother why their child couldn't be saved.

Jean glared at the ground. “What do I even say? No one saw him go down. We have no idea how he died.”

Bert raised his head, staring at the clouds that passed overhead. A glimmer of tears sparkled in his eyes. Had Bert really been that close with Marco? “Sometimes it just happens,” Bert whispered. His voice cracked. “There’s no reason for it. There was no reason for the titans to eat Marco: He didn’t do anything wrong. He was just….in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“What’re you talking about?” Jean furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Sorry.” Bert shook his head, inhaling a sharp breath. “It’s nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

Jean fiddled with the folded fabric in his arms. There was a dent in one of Marco’s buttons. If he remembered right, he had crashed into a tree when they first started 3DMG training. It was a silly thing to remember, but even as their comrades laughed and stared, Marco emerged from the tree unscathed, laughing along with them. 

He was wasting time. Prolonging the inevitable. “Bert,” Jean couldn’t believe he was about to ask it. He felt silly, stupid. Weak. “Will you walk there with me? I don’t want to go alone.”

Bert cringed, curling up into a defensive ball, as if Jean had slapped him. “Sure, yeah, okay.” 

They walked in silence. Neither of them had any idea of what to say. “I wonder where he went wrong,” Jean said. 

Bert turned to look at him as he continued. “Marco was top ten in the class. He had the physical and mental fortitude for the job. He had all the talent and experience he needed to survive. So what happened? Did he panic? Or did something else happen?”

“Battle is unpredictable,” Bert responded. “Look at the veteran vanguard. They were completely wiped out in minutes.”

“Do you think he died alone?” 

Bert swallowed. His fingers wouldn't stop moving, running across his hair, messing with his gear, adjusting his jacket. “I hope not.” Was all he said. 

Jean stopped walking. In front of them, an entire neighborhood stretched out. At the very beginning of the block, small and quaint, stood the Bott household. Stone and wood came together to form the house. The chimney puffed out gasps of white smoke. In the yard in front of them, two younger boys raced back and forth. Their clothes were ragged and worn, but not messy. Second hand. They had streaks of dirt on their pants and sprays of freckles on their cheeks. Messy black hair hung over their ears.

“Did you know he had younger brothers?” Jean asked. Marco had mentioned it once or twice, but it was a detail Jean often forgot. 

“No,” Bert’s shoulders rose and fell unevenly, like he was struggling to breathe. “I didn’t.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“I have to go,” Bert backed away, tense. “I’ll see you back at base.”

He turned and ran. Odd. Sure, Marco was liked by almost everyone in their squad, but Bert’s reaction was strange. From what he recalled, the two of them didn’t really talk much. Bert barely talked with anyone besides Reiner. Maybe Jean didn’t know either of them as well as he thought.


End file.
